Ignescent
by et cetera et cetera
Summary: Royai drabbles & short stories.
1. Open Market

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

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**Open Market**

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If there's one publicly recognized thing about Riza Hawkeye's private life, it's this: every Sunday morning at 0800 hours she can be found at Central's open market choosing and refusing various provisions for the week.

She is as austere in her crisp blouses and a-line skirts as she is in her straight blue uniform, all loveliness aside. She knows what she wants and what she doesn't, never hesitating to openly scrutinize the quality of food. But that doesn't stop butchers from falling over themselves (quite a risk, what with all their sharp cutlery) to be first to offer her the freshest meats along with dates, or the produce vendors from attempting to set Riza up with their sons with promises of cropland. Her seemingly strict but gentle manner awes them to no end.

It is also a known fact that Riza Hawkeye only buys enough to feed one person: one pound of steak (t-bone; she doesn't forget Black Hayate), four potatoes, one stalk of celery, plenty of apples, and a fresh loaf of bread. Maybe chicken or pork one week, carrots instead of celery, but never more than what only she can eat.

So every Sunday morning, as she leans over to inspect the freshness of the vegetables, hair spilling over her shoulder, she reveals more than she says when she hands a merchant a minimal amount of food. Surely a woman as charming and confident as she would have no trouble finding a man to cook for, many assume. The others breathe a sigh of relief as they hand over mutton chops, glad there still is a chance of romancing Riza despite her tinkling laugh of rejection.

So the day she bought enough to feed two people, hearts broke across the market as the news of Riza Hawkeye's relationship status traveled quickly from one dealer to another.


	2. At His Right

**Disclaimer: **Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me.  
**A/N: **So to keep this alive (as I am wont to neglect stories of mine) and paced, I'm utilizing themes. They also keep me pretty inspired. In this drabble I'm using theme #63, _Special Seat_

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**At His Right  
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Military galas occasionally allowed bachelor officers to have a date accompany them, to help pace the organized steps of a waltz or foxtrot, or to share amused comments in ear or over clinking wineglasses.

Roy Mustang was one to take up that option, often seen having a grinning damsel's dainty hand pressed into the bend of his elbow as she glowed at the glower of other women. Being a date of the Colonel Mustang was an opportunity one could never pass up, _never_.

He entertained them throughout dinner, though they so quickly grew bored and inconvenienced during the military proceedings, wishing for the dancing part to hurry and start. Alas, it did, and Roy suavely led them in a flourishing quickstep, displaying groomed techniques the ladies surely received in etiquette school.

Others at the table would tolerate the loudness of his dates (for some had dates of their own), and those who gave special attention to Roy's date would have seen that she was seated to his left, just like his date before her and the date before that one. It gave the seating a slight imbalance, but it was soon forgone as laughter roused attention back to duty-filled dates.

When the ball was over, and the young women were spent in glamour and compliments (mainly envious stares), Roy brought them back home, wherein he duly bid them a good night with a chaste kiss on the cheek and turned to return to his own home, oblivious of the angry pouts glared in his direction and the grievances of his post-date charm.

He continued on, thinking beyond the crowding scent of perfume and pitchy giggles, into a musing of rougher hands and a stronger, but gentler, heart.

When the next ball came and required attendance of all officers, Riza Hawkeye would accompany her Colonel, by his side with a surveying eye. With no civilian women at their table, they all would openly discuss current matters, taking an intelligent measure of entertaining themselves. If Roy got up and gently pressed his hand in front of his First Lieutenant, no one minded as they watched him smoothly lead Riza across the dance floor.

Because they were busy contemplating the fact that she was seated at his right, as she always was.


	3. Betrayal

**Disclaimer: **Fullmetal Alchemist doesn't belong to me.  
**A/N: **I've never really had the motivation to start a drabble set, much less write them, even though I think they're the easiest way to keep inspiration at bay, as well as the fastest way of putting two people together, :) . This is yet another theme: #13, Betrayal, which so happens to be the title for lack of a better one. Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I'm so glad you guys don't think I'm butchering Royai with a blunted sword.

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**Betrayal  
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Betrayal.

It was the only thing Riza could logically attach to the horrible, _horrible_ action committed against her. She didn't—_couldn't_—understand why she was so befallen with resistance against all contriteness, protection, respect, and most of all, _care_ she had put forth in this for all these years.

She was Riza Hawkeye, sure, but that didn't mean she was any less a person susceptible of such treachery, especially if she was caught completely off guard. Her military training did not cover the basis of treason when the one committing it was someone she thought she knew like the back of her hand.

It was unsettling, knowing that this much burden had now tumbled onto her shoulders, weighing her down and causing her poised and adept abilities to inherit a worrisome lagging. She herself withdrew into shock at the amount of time she had to prepare herself for such a calamity as this; there was virtually no time to fold her mind and outward reaction to a semblance of First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye normalcy.

Roy Mustang entered the office and the sting of sedition abounded Riza's heart to greater leaps, and she suddenly knew.

She pressed her hand against her chest as if she could force the pounding to a lesser degree of beating, or to halt it completely. It was ironic; she was the commanding officer of her body, yet the silly insurgent disguising as her heart proved her leadership skills paltry.

"Traitor," she whispered hopelessly, finally conceding to the one thing she couldn't forbear. Her heart was uncontrollable.

"Hawkeye, are you alright? Have you fallen ill?" Roy asked, leaning down to inspect the grounds for Riza's continued press, bowed head, and flushed cheeks.

Riza dropped her hand—which set off an even faster pace beneath her uniform jacket—and gave her Colonel a complacent smile. "I'm fine, sir."

He smiled at her—warmly, for she was the first person he came into contact today with and required no false pretenses whatsoever—and then straightened, continuing to his own desk.

Riza sighed. _Oh well,_ she thought, clasping shaky hands together as her newfound discovery unveiled in her muddy brain, _if you can't beat them, join them. _


	4. Dog

**Disclaimer: **They don't belong to me.

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**Dog  
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He found his Lieutenant sitting outside on a bench while her dog alternated frolicking and lolling in the tufts of grass a few yards away. He sighed and tucked his hands in starched pockets (how long had it been since he had adopted such a lax posture?), following the line of light as it stretched its beam onto her, melding and disappearing into her own golden hair.

After returning from a brief debriefing, he had been told by the others that she took a late lunch, as she had forgone taking a break earlier to help sort out papers that had pressing urgency. At realizing that he had done the same (he really relied on her to keep his timing in line, including his breaks) he announced his own break and ventured out to find Lieutenant Hawkeye and some food, respectively in order of importance.

He wordlessly sat down next to her, waiting until she acknowledged him.

"Colonel."

"Lieutenant. I see you're taking a late lunch today."

She shifted her eyes to her right, glancing at Roy as he settled into an almost slouched position. "I see you are as well, sir," she commented.

He shut his mouth against telling her that he hadn't yet, so he wouldn't see the patronizing and maybe surprised look on his Lieutenant's face at his explanation, though he wasn't sure if he even had a good one. Instead, he watched Black Hayate chew on an abandoned boot sole.

"He's a good dog."

Riza nodded, and from the corner of his eye Roy saw the makings of a small smile. Of course her pup would be the only living thing to draw such endearment from his usually stoic lieutenant. "He is."

"He's quite obedient," he said, referring to the various actions Black Hayate was taught to perform.

"As well as reliable. Black Hayate is a good listener."

Roy smirked. "Didn't know dogs could listen."

She shrugged and replied, "It doesn't really matter whether or not he understands the words. But he knows when I talk to him."

"He's dedicated to his owner. A good, loyal dog."

She shook her head. "He really is dependant on me."

"He loves you," Roy said, finally turning to her.

Riza quickly ducked her head, but not before he caught the faint blush that snuck onto her cheeks.

Roy cleared his throat and continued in his observations of her beloved pet, secretly elated at the effect his words had on her. "He stays by your side."

Recovered by her colonel's blunt opinion, Riza looked down at her large puppy (has it really only been seven months since she's taken him in?) and agreed. "Always."

Black Hayate's characteristics were strangely familiar. "Just like a . . ."

"Soldier, sir," Riza finished quietly.

Roy saw that she likened her dog's attributes to that of a dog of the military, but he felt embittered by the comparison, knowing that her dog's role in her life was worth more than being just a follower. He felt that Black Hayate best represented something real, tangible and more personal. Those attributes were strangely like those among the two of them, definitely beyond military obligation.

"No, Lieutenant."

Riza looked up at Roy's refutation, the low position of the setting sun casting a jagged halo around his head. Imperfect, but setting nicely against his dark hair and placid smile. He sounded offended by her statement.

The sunlight linked the two together, like a leash connecting a dog to its owner, but more fitting to the man and woman seated together, like a chain connecting two dog tags as they hang close to the heart, a daily reminder of consistent camaraderie.

"Like a friend."

Riza blinked and then understood, like she always did. When Black Hayate made his way over, she bent down and scratched behind his ear, allowing the smile to slowly expand.

Yes, a friend indeed.


	5. Hairclip

**Disclaimer: **Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me.

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**Hairclip**

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As an alchemist and a high-ranking militant, Roy Mustang had the innate capability of noticing minute details as they form into bigger pictures. It was a required knack.

So then, why couldn't he figure what was so off with his First Lieutenant? He scrutinized, he assumed, he stared (the latter which got the worse end of Riza's attitude), and carefully laid out the details that he acquired about her after so many years of knowing her.

By noon, four hours into his confounding, Roy had eliminated possible explanations. It wasn't anything superficial, for Riza Hawkeye was a woman beyond enhancing appearances. He knew her plain yet admirable beauty to be stronger and much more significant than anything makeup or perfume could create. At least after so long he could be credited to knowing _that_ much about her.

Of course, Roy could just ask her if something was different about her today, but he was a man of dignity and pomp, so admitting that he could not see what was different about his lieutenant was simply unacceptable. Besides, what kind of man doesn't notice things about a woman he's seen every day for the past numerous years? Below the obvious embarrassment would lay guilt at not being able to tell even so much of a slight difference about Riza.

But _something_ was off, and work be damned until he got to the bottom of this.

Unfortunately, his subject matter wouldn't have any of it.

"Colonel Mustang, are you listening?"

Roy snapped to and looked at Riza, whose patience with him had apparently run thin. "Did you say something, Lieutenant?" he asked, outwardly resisting any facets of blatant scrutiny.

Riza dropped a stack of files in front of him—adding more to the pile he had previously discarded—leaned over and said, "I suggest you finish your work unless you wish to have a late night tonight. You have been like this since you arrived this morning and frankly sir, I will not put up with it anymore."

Roy smirked and quickly signed the first page of the towering bundle. "Don't worry about me Lieutenant. I'll get these done today."

Riza sighed and cast him a withering glance before walking back to her desk. "The sooner the better, sir."

Soon thereafter he dismissed her heed of warning and went back lollygagging, glaring at the back of Riza's head.

_What could it be, what could it be?_

It surprised Roy that this issue aggravated him so much. If it wasn't something obvious, then there was no reason for him to delve into her slightly changed appearance. But the problem was already addressed, and the only logical thing to do would be to get to the bottom of it. He also wanted to conquer his guilt to be able to know even the smallest of details about her. As her Colonel or just Roy, it didn't matter much as long as he fully familiarized himself with his second in command. He kept detailed accounts of the important things in his life, and with him staring at her as she moved to and fro about the office, she had unknowingly pushed herself to the top of that list.

When Riza stood and walked to the opposite side of the office, displaying nothing and everything mysterious, Roy grit his teeth in annoyance and heard a crunching of some kind. Looking down, he realized that he broke the pen he had been twiddling between his fingers and sighed, throwing it in the waste bin. He reached for another pen in the penholder, but found none at hand. He swore that there were always extras in there, but he was out on his luck today, it seemed.

More annoyed at the adding problems (which will no doubt attract the unwanted reprimand from Lieutenant Hawkeye), he looked towards his officers.

"Does anybody have an extra pen?"

His officers looked at him, then to the pens they were using for their own paperwork. Riza shook her head at his lack of preparedness and one more excuse _not_ to complete his work. After a minute of silence, Roy huffed. "Can someone go get me one?"

Fuery got up. "I'll go get one, sir."

Havoc grinned at Roy. "You feeling okay Colonel? You look a bit on edge today."

The other men followed up on Havoc's assessment with scrutinizing eyes, making silent conjectures. Roy's brow twitched. "I'm fine," he told them, the curtness of his voice making them turn back to their work.

Riza walked up to him instead and stared down at the straight line of his mouth and his scowling eyes. Roy refused to look up at her, not in the mood to guess her volume of annoyance with him. He himself was annoyed with himself for letting this affect him so much, but more so annoyed at _why_ it was affecting him so much.

After a short while her hand held out a pen—in fact, the very pen that had gone missing from his holder—and he stared at it before raising his eyes.

This prompted him to blink one, twice, before realizing the verity in front of him. His pen had been utilized as Riza's hairclip all morning.

Riza simply stared at him, offering him his pen. Her lips were pressing against each other in an attempt to fight off the smile at her Colonel's expression.

"You needed a pen, sir?"

Refusing to look and act like a moron furthermore, Roy cleared his throat and accepted the pen. With a downward turn of his mouth, he quickly adopted a staid look that belied his astonishment.

"What a change, Lieutenant."

Riza sighed and cut a strict eye on her pup napping next to Roy's desk. "Black Hayate seems to find it amusing to take all my hairclips and bury them. He took the last one this morning; I hope you didn't mind me using your pen."

Roy shook his head.

Riza didn't say anything more and turned to walk back to the opposite side of the office. The movement swayed her hair free from its self-held knot and the golden strands seemed to evaporate all other light. Roy heard his officers' surprised remarks on Riza's sudden change, but certain words fell short of his ear as his own rushing mind pursued the thought that this was the first time he's seen his First Lieutenant look so . . . feminine.

As Riza ignored the blatant stares from her coworkers, Roy ignored his own thoughts of what Riza and beautiful equaled to. After a second thought, Roy subtly lifted the pen and the delicate scent of Riza's shampoo flittered into his nose.

Black Hayate came around the desk and nudged under Roy's slack hand. Roy looked down and pet the dog's head in secret appraisal of his newfound burying habit.


	6. Cold Hands

**Author's Note: **Whoa, an update posted right after the last one! Is this abnormality or what?! Anyway, so at first I meant for this to be kind of serious and introspective, but then it ended being introspective and fluffy. Oh well; enjoy!  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_.

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Cold Hands

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For a man of fire, Roy Mustang had awfully cold hands. Granted, he felt the spark of heat as it would quickly expel from his fingertips, and the lingering tingle of his inner alchemist embers as his blood surged—or maybe it was just the heat of his blood causing the sensation.

But once the fire left his hands, he was left with a shocking cold. It was the reason why he sometimes wore his alchemist gloves without needing to use alchemy; their symbolism of warmth gave him slight comfort. Even though his hands remained cold and a bitter reminder of what they've done, when they warmed he tended to occupy better thoughts.

Coldness seeped through his hands as he stood by the frosting window, staring down at the Headquarters' courtyard. He considered taking his gloves out of his drawer and pulling them on, if only out of habit. But he had begun weaning himself off the dependence on such material items, as he now depended on something—er, someone—more tangible.

"Hawkeye, come here." As he spoke his breath formed jagged circles on the glass. He didn't bother turning around; he instead waited for her soft footsteps to come closer and stop behind him.

"Sir?"

"There's a problem with the heating in this room."

"Well because of energy reductions, we have to make due with the limited heat this building allots. Would you like me to find a candle for you, sir?"

Roy heard the laughter in Riza's voice and smirked. "Are you somehow mocking me for staying so late in this damned office?"

Riza came around and stood next to him. "You were the one who decided that a nap proved beneficial for your work ethic today."

Roy sighed and turned his body towards her. "I don't mind staying late. It's just that my hands are really cold."

She looked at his pout and smiled. "That can be solved." Before Roy said anything else, she unbuttoned her overcoat and stepped closer to him. He needed no further instruction and deftly slid his hands under her coat and jacket, subsequently pulling her closer.

Riza craned her neck up to narrow her eyes at him. "I don't understand how you have such cold hands," she commented.

Roy shrugged. "Lack of blood flow? And you're the one with the cold feet."

He felt Riza start to move backwards so he linked his fingers and kept her from leaving.

"Would you like me to get the candle?" she threatened. He chuckled and ducked his head to briefly press his lips against hers.

"Body heat is the primary way of surviving the cold. You should know that, Lieutenant."

Riza rolled her eyes, but made no other movement other than leaning her head under his chin. "You still have work to finish."

"I still have cold hands."


	7. Touch

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**Touch  


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The first time she let him touch her was when she requested that he burn her father's secret sealed on her skin much to his confused caution. She never told him why, and he never asked. It was the first time she put her trust in his hands, and he vowed to never betray that trust for in return, he placed his own in hers. It pained him though, to hear the muffled cries of pain as she determinately kept her tears in check.

Now, years later, he's touching her again with a different kind of fire, the invisible heat that alights deep in her belly and sears under her skin tracing the path his fingers trail over ink and raised flesh. The pain's long been forgotten, but her secret is still hidden underneath her skin and he can read where the words disfigure.

She sighs when his mouth replaces his hands and he's starting to think each touch brings him closer to understanding why she asked for these burns.


	8. Given Name

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**Given Name  


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Riza Hawkeye is a woman structured on independence. She is more than capable of leading men through a battle, no matter if it was through a sandy combat zone or through her Colonel's paperwork. She equates dependency for others but requires none for herself.

Her given name is testament to her individual strength, a name no one dares to sully or take for granted. It symbolizes Riza as a strong soldier, a sharp shooter, but seldom as the gentle woman she is.

She is rarely called by her first name, so it is generally assumed that Hawkeye (_First Lieutenant, Lieutenant, ma'am_) is all she answers to. She introduces herself and in turn is introduced with her surname, something no one takes any notice of.

When Roy Mustang proposed to her their engagement had been kept secret until pretenses could absolutely be hidden no more, but many still believed that she would keep her last name as she's lived decades with it. First Lieutenant Mustang surprised everyone when she discreetly signed a few forms to officially changed her last name.

Because, you see, the name you're born with is intrinsic, a name you have no choice in accepting. It links your past with your present, and carries off into the distant future. But when someone offers you their name they're giving you a choice to start a new family, one that takes in both your given and offered name. One is given when your parents lovingly christen you with the family name to uphold, and the other is offered with love and permission of acceptance into the rest of your life.

And Riza's personally liked horses better than birds, in any case.


End file.
